by Jo Raven
“That’s an idea,” Brylee agrees. “But I’m saving that, too.”
“Why, thinking of taking two guys on at once, like Candy?” Simone chews on her lower lip. “Double cherry-popping?”
I blink again. “Uh…” I close my mouth again, not sure what I wanted to say.
“Simone!” Brylee manages to look affronted. “Of course I’m not taking two guys at once. Just… stop talking about anal, okay?”
Jet starts chuckling, leaning back in the armchair. “Jesus Christ. You two girls are mental.”
You can say that again.
“What’s up?” Candy asks, bustling in with a tray and I get up to help her, leaving Jet still chuckling.
“Nothing, just chatting with your friends.” I get the tray from her and she slips back into the kitchen to grab the milk. “You never mentioned Simone. She’s something.”
“Oh, we’ve just met in African American Studies class, but she’s been friends with Brylee since summer.”
“Is she Brylee’s new roommate?”
“Oh, no. Bry hasn’t decided yet what to do about the apartment.”
Really? She’s taking her sweet time, then. Candy moved out weeks ago, but hell, to each their own. If Brylee has money to waste on the rent of a two-bedroom apartment, kudos to her.
And I still wanna kick her ass out to the curb, together with her shy-but-not-really friend, grab Jet and Candy caveman-like and drag them to the bedroom. I wanna lock the door and throw away the key, and not surface for a month.
Damn, it almost sounds as if I’m trying to hide from the world. From reality.
But that’s not it, I tell myself, listening with half an ear as Candy sits with the other two girls on the sofa and steers the conversation to more innocent topics, like their class, and the nutty professor teaching it. I’m not trying to hide from anything.
Why the hell would I?
Chapter Six
Jethro
Being in a relationship means relaxing your guard and laying down your weapons. Trusting the other person to have your back. Accepting you’re not at war with the universe anymore.
I’m not sure I know how to do that anymore. But deep inside I know it’s worth a try.
Candy has weird chicks for friends. I won’t say they’re psychos—although the bookstore owner, Donna, my boss, is one crazy bitch—but they’re unusual, for sure.
Take this Simone chick. She sits there, twisting her hands together in her lap, not looking at everyone, and then goes, “Hey, Bry, you should try anal if you wanna become a fairytale sandwich between two princes, yo.”
Or something in that vein.
And then there’s Brylee herself, the chick who still doesn’t believe what Candy, J and I have is real, but who called her when I was stabbed, and…
I rub at the scar on my chest, and I swear it fucking burns as the memory replays in my mind.
Anyway, the chick is such a bunch of contradictions, I can’t even. She’s educated, works in a big company, believes in fairytale happy endings, and apparently likes my art.
I think.
It’s not so clear. Take now, for instance. She pulls up my stash of drawings that was leaning against the side of the sofa and aaahs.
Then she says the following, and I’m not making this shit up:
“You’re like a crazy scientist, Jet. You know? Frigging crazy—only without the scientist part.”
Man. Wow. I grin at her and lace my hands behind my head. “You mean like a crazy artist?”
“Yeah. Something like that. How did you know?”
“Uh.” I glance at my drawings, back at her, and I shrug. “Yeah. No idea.”
“It’s so weird,” she says.
Right. She said it. There you go.
Joel’s jaw is clenched so tight my teeth ache in sympathy. He grabs Candy around the waist, startling a yelp out of her, and wanders back to me. Instead of sitting on the armrest like before, though, he hauls me up and drops in my place, settling us both on his lap.
“Jeez, J…” I’m torn between snickering and bitching about being manhandled like this outside of the bedroom—I may like being dominated in sex, but not in the living room with Candy’s friends watching, dammit.
His arm around me tightens, and he lets out a low growl that speaks of frustration, so I settle down, not fighting him. I lean back against his chest and I throw an arm around Candy’s shoulders, drawing her sideways to me.
It feels good, I admit secretly to myself, having the two most important people in my life like this, Joel’s arms around both of us, his muscular thighs underneath us.
Candy makes small talk with the girls, or maybe she’s discussing sex positions, I couldn’t fucking care less. I think about how tense Joel is, like everything in his life is too much right now as he’s trying to decide what to do professionally, and with the fucking burden of his parents not knowing, or pretending not to know. How to help him do what he has to do.
How to help him relax.
I could give him a blow job, and let him finish this time. Man, I’d love to tie him to the bed before I go down on him, have him helpless to pleasure.
Or have him fuck me as I fuck Candy. Damn, that image always gets me hard in seconds—although the image following on the heels of that is even hotter: Joel fucking Candy as I pound into him.
And once Candy comes, I’d pull out and have him lie on his back, to see his face as I push back into him, as I fuck him and mark him like he has marked me. Tell him he’s mine, too, mine to protect from this fucking world, the same he does for me.
Jesus Fuck.
Would he like it? Would he trust me like I trust him? Trust himself to give it a try, to allow himself to be taken care of, to be pleasured like that? Give over the control to me, let down his walls.
Doesn’t have to be all the time. Hell, it doesn’t have to happen more than once, if he doesn’t enjoy it. I just need to see him surrender, even just once, to me.
Thing is, I have this sinking feeling that it will never happen—and I’m not only talking about the sex.
***
Speaking of my crazy bitch of a boss… she’s been acting weird. Weirder than usual, that is.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s been great about taking me back. She told me she’ll ignore for now the fact I still don’t have a GED since I’m working toward it, and she even wants to set up an exhibition of my comic drawings, since Candy told her about them.
Which is super cool, although my stomach turns into a giant knot whenever I think about putting my work out there for people to see and comment and judge.
Okay, so maybe she’s not that much of a bitch after all.
So as I was saying, my boss.
Donna.
It’s Monday, and I’m at the bookstore, working, when she walks out of her office to stand in front of me, hands on her hips.
I glance up. I’m kneeling on the floor, bent over a cardboard box, sorting through a new shipment of books. Work has increased since Candy went back to classes. She still comes around in the afternoons for a couple of hours, but Donna hasn’t hired a replacement for her yet and I’m still learning the ropes, so it’s kinda overwhelming at times. And tiring.
But I’m happy working here, so I suck it up and remind myself how lucky I am. For this job, for surviving the death of my mom, and the stabbing in the back alley, for finding two people who love me, even though Joel has been wound up tighter than a spring lately. Especially today, as he’s been waiting for a phone call about a job interview.
I try not to think of my dad, which is kinda hypocritical when you think I keep harping on how Joel should face his parents, but come on. My dad is a convicted murderer who’s been after my own hide—and I have to face him in court sooner or later.
So not looking forward to that, lemme tell you.
“Jethro.” Donna leans forward, frowning. “Have you listened to a word I said?”
Um. I wipe my dusty hands on my black pa
nts and blink up at her. “Yeah?”
“I said, will you be all right on your own if I leave an hour earlier?”
“Sure. Candy will be here by then. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good.”
I get to my feet, my knees creaking alarmingly. “Going someplace nice?”
“What? Why are you asking?” Her cheeks turn crimson, matching her wild curls, and her freckles stand out. She’s pretty for a thirty-year-old with the personality of a sumo wrestler and the temper of a mad Chihuahua.
Not that I’d ever tell her that.
I nod at her dress instead. “You’re all dressed up.”
“This old thing?” She gives a high-pitch laugh that hurts my ears, and strokes her neck. “I just happened to throw it on this morning.”
Right. This “old thing” is a short black dress that shows off her long legs and has a cleavage plunging so low it almost hits her bellybutton.
Okay, I exaggerate. I can’t see her bellybutton. I think.
“And who’s the lucky guy?”
She sputters. “Jet. What’s gotten into you?”
Sometimes I suspect she’s younger than thirty.
And sometimes, like now, I think she might be a spry eighty. “Come on, Donna. Fess up.”
“Honestly…” She glares, and I worry for a moment I’ve overstepped my boundaries.
After all, she only just gave me my job back, and I’m here thanks to her goodwill, but I thought she was an open-minded person—for a spry eighty-year-old.
“How old are you?” I ask, before my brain engages.
Fuck. Abort.
Too late. She steps into my personal space, head tilted up to look at my face, and wags a finger. “That’s none of your business, Jethro Connors.”
Shit. I don’t wanna get fired so soon. I like this job. “You look like you’re twenty-two or something.”
Her face softens. “I do? I mean, nonsense. I don’t look that young.”
But she smiles and steps back.
Phew. Disaster averted. She returns to her office and I return to the books that need unpacking and sorting.
I bet there’s a guy. I admit I’m damn curious about how this will play out. I guess seeing Donna in a different light than that of a boss is what’s piquing my interest.
But then Candy arrives and I forget all about it as we talk and put the books on the shelves.
Candy has that effect on me. The world fades away when she’s around. She chats about Brylee’s obsession with this Ryan guy who’s apparently a douchebag, and Simone the Unpredictable, who confessed she doesn’t believe in love but she does believe in good orgasms.
“That’s a good religion,” I say, absently lifting more books to the shelf, too busy staring at Candy’s boobs. They are really nice boobs, neither too small nor too big. Perfect. Today she’s wearing a close-fitting sweater that dips just low enough to give me a glimpse of cleavage, and guess where my gaze has been glued since she arrived.
I’d have my hand under her top right now, and my thigh between her legs, if two customers weren’t browsing the shelves right across from us.
Doesn’t stop me from seriously considering it. I could pull her behind the crime section and have her up against the wall, kiss her to keep her quiet as I get her off.
Damn, that would be hot. My dick is drilling a hole through my dusty pants and I shift uncomfortably, nodding at something Candy says, not hearing a word. It’s not that I’m being an asshole. Not on purpose, anyway. Once my mind’s on sex, it’s hard to focus on anything else.
We rarely fuck around without Joel, or he without me, but getting Candy off anywhere, anytime, is priority. We’ve both agreed it’s okay, even without prior agreement.
Candy is saying something about Brylee and cooking and a disaster, and I nod distractedly, hypnotized by her mouth, imagining it on my skin, around my cock, my hand in her blond hair, tugging—
“Excuse me.” A guy is standing at the end of the row of shelves, hands shoved in the pockets of his long coat. He’s blond and blue-eyed, with a strong set of shoulders, and doesn’t look much older than me, mid-twenties, if that. “I’m looking for Donna.”
I frown at him, my brain still not processing.
“In the office.” Candy points, smiling, and we both watch him nod and amble toward the back of the shop. “Who is that?”
I shake my head. “I think he’s Donna’s date.”
“What? A date?”
Trying to see into the office, she leans forward, flashing me some more boobage, and I lose track of my surroundings again. “Hm?”
I can’t remember how I used to work here before, when Candy was here full-time. Nowadays she’s only in for a couple of hours three times a week and I’m not even sure whether the books I’ve put on this shelf are Christian romance or DIY books. I pick one up.
Fancy Coffins to Make Yourself.
Fuck. Wrong shelf.
“Donna is going out with that guy? Isn’t he too young for her?” Candy is still trying to see into the office.
I lick my lips, and struggle to get my thoughts back in line. “Why would he be too young?”
“Donna is thirty-one. She’s a cradle robber.”
“He’s hardly a baby.”
“She’s a cougar, don’t you see?”
“See what?” I’m genuinely baffled. “It’s not like they have thirty years difference, and besides, what does age have to do with anything?”
Candy makes a face. “Oh my God. You’re right.” Red is flushing her cheeks. “You’d think I’d be more open-minded when I’m in a relationship with two guys, right?”
“Hey.” Her eyes are glittering. “Come here. You’re a nice person, Sugar Pop.”
“Donna has every right to date whoever she wants and be happy.”
“Yes. And we were only chatting. Why are you so sad?” I draw her against me and sigh contently. Having her in my arms is the best feeling ever, and I’m not talking about the way she’s pressed to my hard-on.
Okay, not only.
“I’m not sad. And before you ask again, I’m not pregnant, okay?”
Back up. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”
I wasn’t gonna ask. Though the thought of Candy having my babies, Joel’s babies… is sweet. Sweeter than I thought possible. It makes me wanna grab her and sink into her until it happens.
Whoa, hold up. It’s way too soon for anything like that, and besides Candy has her plans with her studies and her career.
I know what it means, though. It means I want this girl for life. I want Candy, and Joel, for the long run, and I’m not scared.
Well, not as much as I thought I’d be, and that’s pretty damn crazy.
Candy pulls back. “Here they come.”
Donna and the guy walk by us, heading out. They’re not holding hands or anything, but the way they’re aware of each other as they reach the door and he holds it open for her is clear.
“Donna is a cougar,” I say.
“Jet!”
“Nothing against cougars or any other big cats, Sugar Babe,” I tell her and haul her back against me, other customers be damned. “You can maul me any time you like.”
Chapter Seven
Candy
“If our future children turn out to be obsessed with the history channel, I’ll blame you,” I tell J-One. “Just so you know.”
“Or with cooking,” J-Two says smugly. “Also your fault.”
“And if they turn out to be fucking awesome artists, then it’s on both of you,” J-One says, quietly, earnestly, and I shut up.
He sometimes says the most deliciously sweet things. For this one, he’s getting the blowjob of his life, I pinkie-swear.
(Candy’s Note: But what if our future children end up useless in the kitchen like me? Now I’m worried.)
From Candy Ever After (Unpublished epilogue to the serial Candy Boys)
“What’s going on?” The kitchen is a mess of dirty dishes and bowls and peel
ed veggies when I poke my head inside. “Hey, Joel? Are we expecting people for dinner? Why didn’t you…?”
He turns around, a long knife and an apple in his hands, and oh my God, he’s wearing a blue and white apron decorated with stars.
And not much else.
In his defense, it’s way too warm in the kitchen. Since when has he been in here, cooking?
Jet comes in behind me, takes a look and lets out a wolf whistle. “Are we having food sex?”
What?
“Or guests?” Jet goes on, wandering inside to check the bowl in front of Joel and stealing a piece of apple before Joel swats at him with the apple he’s holding—not the knife, thank God.
“Neither,” Joel mutters and slams the apple on a cutting board, then proceeds to annihilate it with his big-ass knife.
Jet hums and leans back against the wall by the kitchen door, munching on the piece of fruit he stole and wagging his brows at Joel’s ass.
His very pert, muscular ass that’s encased in white briefs, the bow of the navy blue apron hanging right over muscular butt cheeks that could hold a quarter between them easily.
I fan myself. “Do you know what’s going on?”
Joel likes cooking, and he likes feeding us—food, I mean. Okay, other things, too. Anyway, the point is… I can’t remember ever seeing him in such a cooking frenzy. There is a cake cooling on the counter, something else baking in the oven, a pot bubbling on the stove, and a stack of pancakes cooling down on the kitchen table.
Foodgasm! No wonder Jet was talking of food sex.
… which is starting to sound interesting. How would that work? I’m thinking honey and syrup and whipped cream and chocolate…
Maybe it’s the sight of a shirtless, mostly naked Joel that’s getting me in the mood.
How could it not? He’s delicious, even more than the sweets sitting right next to him on the counter. Much more. He’s sculpted of toffee and hard candy, thick muscles shifting in his legs as he steps to the side to grab a baking pan and spreads the chopped apple in it. His biceps bulge as he opens cupboards, looking for something. His dark hair gleams where it curls slightly on the back of his neck, and my fingers itch to twist in the shiny strands.